George And The Chimney-Sweep
HIS petticoats now George cast off,
For he ws four years old;
His trousers were of nankeen stuff,
With buttons bright as gold.
'May I, ' said George, 'just go abroad,
My pretty clothes to show?
May I, mamma? but speak the word;'
The answer was, 'No, no.'
'Go, run below, George, in the court,
But go not in the street,
Lest boys with you should make some sport,
Or gipsies you should meet. '
Yet, though forbidden, he went out,
That other boys might spy,
And proudly there he walk'd about,
And thought–'How fine am I!'
But whilst he strutted through the street,
With looks both vain and pert,
A sweep-boy pass'd, whom not to meet,
He slipp'd–into the dirt.
The sooty lad, whose heart was kind,
To help him quickly ran,
And grasp'd his arm, with–'Never mind,
You're up, my little man.'
Sweep wiped his clothes with labour vain,
And begg'd him not to cry;
And when he'd blacken'd every stain,
Said, 'Little sir, good-bye. '
Poor George, almost as dark as sweep,
And smear'd in dress and face,
Bemoans with sobs, both loud and deep,
His well-deserved disgrace.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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